


Blooming Flowers

by Stelmarya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Gen, Minor Character Death, My baby deserved better, Robert's Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stelmarya/pseuds/Stelmarya
Summary: The bed is dirty and dusty and smells worse than her brother, but is the only safe place Rhaenys can find in the chaos. Everything is dark, she is still squeezing one of her stained blankets in her hand, but her Papa will protect her.Papa, I'm dying.
Relationships: Rhaegar Targaryen & Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18





	Blooming Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I will never let go of the fact that Rhaenys chose to hide under Rhaegar's bed instead of staying with Elia and Aegon. That should tell us everything about their relationship.

**Blooming Flowers**

.

..

.

_Papa, I’m here._

The bed is dirty and dusty and smells worse than her brother, but is the only safe place Rhaenys can find in the chaos. Everything is dark, she is still squeezing one of her stained blankets in her hand, but her Papa will protect her. His room is wide and pretty, and his bed is just like she remembers, comfortable, warm, it even smells like him.

 _Do not worry_ , he used to tell her, caressing her silver strand of hair as he carried her around Dragonstone, showing her the dragon statues and gargoyles. _They cannot hurt you_ , _for_ _Papa will always protect you._

But now he is gone, and Mama is gone too, and everyone has left her behind. She even looked for Aegon, to take care of her baby brother as she had promised, but he is gone too. And now she is all alone under her Papa’s bed, sobbing and listening to footsteps in the hall.

“ _Viserys_ ,” cries Rhaenys, wailing like _Balerion_ when he was hungry. Everyone is gone, even her kitties; she can only clutch her blanket and hope for her Papa to come back. He would know where to find her, he would always find her.

And then the man enters.

She cannot help but whimper, she can't even run. She is not brave enough and not old enough and not strong enough. And more men enter, their footsteps heavy and hurried.

“Come ‘ere,” one of them says, bending in front of her Father’s bed, and his ugly face appears on her eyesight.

And Rhaenys starts to scream.

“ _Papa,_ ” is the only thing she can yell as he drags her from her hiding place; her Papa told her he would always protect her, he told her nobody would ever hurt such a pretty princess like her, but he is not here. He is not here and the men are squeezing her and it _hurts_. It hurts like nothing she has ever felt, it is the worst sensation of her young life, so Rhaenys screams louder, kicks two of the men, but even through her tears she sees the silver glint of the knife.

“ _No_ ,” she weeps before it is buried inside her stomach, a quick movement that leaves her dizzy. Viserys did that once to a practice dummy as he told her he would be one of the best knights in the whole realm, that no one would hurt them because he was here, because he and her Papa and the king would never let their enemies win.

 _But they already won_ , she thinks feverishly as the blade sinks again, close to her first wound, and again, and again, and again, and she is screaming so loud one of them covers her mouth with a smelly hand. The ugly man’s face is red and sweaty as he stabs her again on the shoulder, she can even see his beady, bloodshot eyes, and she kicks and thrash as hard as she can, falling to the floor as one of the men drops her with a curse.

 _I’m dying, I’m dying_. She covers the wounds with her small hands, crawling away from them like one of the king’s hounds when it was bitten, whimpering and weakened, who was put down at the end, just like her. _Papa, I’m dying_.

Pain finally explodes in her vision as something sinks in her shoulder, something that tears her apart from the inside and makes her wail. She tries to turn, to cover her small body clad only in a grey nightgown, but the blade cuts her in the ribs, making her retch. Red flowers bloom on her clothes, crimson rivers sweeping through the expensive silk that create paths and shapes and petals, and Rhaenys can only think of the sun. She wants to see it again, she wants to go back to Dragonstone and feel the salty wind on her face and have her Papa kiss her on the head and her Mama cuddle with her in bed and her brother grab her finger. She wants to _live_ , but life is slipping between her fingers, she cannot keep it inside her. _Papa, I’m dying._

The world is greying around the corners, the man has already destroyed her with his blade, stabbing her over and over and over and over again, and Rhaenys can only cover the holes in her stomach, unable to protect her back, watching her life spread on the floor, forming big flower fields coloured crimson, just like the Targaryen colours.

Red against black and red and black and red and red and red—

Pain becomes everything; it is bright as the morning sun, bright as Ser Jaime’s hair and her Papa’s cloak and her Mama’s smile, and it is replacing her life, turning everything into pretty, agonizing flowers, and finally, as she lays on the wet floor between half a dozen men, whimpering and weeping and dying, pain is nothing. 

The room becomes nothing too, and the single silver lock in her brown hair falls over her eyes. It is the last thing she sees before the knife sinks again, relentless, cruel, just below her chin, but the flowers are there too. _A flower for Rhaenys, the prettiest princess in the whole realm._

_Papa, I’m gone._

**Author's Note:**

> Half a hundred stabs to a 3 years old girl. Never forget that.


End file.
